All my life I’ve been seeking justice, on a more or less conscious level. You know what I mean – that we are equal, that we all deserve the same start the same finish, and that all the life’s gifts in between the two should be distributed fairly. Of course I realize it doesn’t work like this, but it has always caused me pain and made me “demand” justice. From God, from live, from others, from myself.
When I see a mother who doesn’t love her child, I protest. Because mothers should love their children. There is no greater love than mother’s love, everyone knows that.
When I see a young man lying on the pavement at 8 AM, unconscious from alcohol, with a purple face, peed all over himself, I protest. Because young people shouldn’t be lying like that. Young people should be starting their day beautifully, should be happy, amazed by life and the possibilities it offers them. Everyone knows that.
When I hear of two teenagers’ cruelty toward a helpless porcupine in the park (I choose not to be more specific), I protest. Because people should be good, love other creatures, especially the helpless ones. People should want to be good. Everyone knows that.
However, every day life shows me a different version. There are mothers who don’t love their children. Alcoholics living their lives in a blackout. Children cruel to animals. My protest is MY suffering. It changes nothing. It only sustains me in an illusion of a fight for justice, in an illusion that justice exists.
It doesn’t. Period. Does it mean that live is shitty? No, it doesn’t. Life is.
A bad mother, unhappy with herself, with her own mess from not dealt with from the beginning of her time – it is life.
An alcoholic, lost, confused, dependent – it is life.
A cruel child infected and blinded by hatred – it is life.
Life simply is. Beautiful, ugly, just is. And there is no need for me to seek justice in it. Because when I disagree with what is, I suffer. Not disagreeing is not the same as agreeing and thus supporting or permitting it. (By the way notice that nobody asks for our permission when they can’t love their own children, live in sobriety or be good to animals).
I will try to agree more with what is. Otherwise `I enter into dispute with reality. When I argue with reality, I lose—but only 100 percent of the time (as Byron Katie says).